Sunday, March 27, 2011

When I eventually left home to start working right after my graduation some 10 years ago, it seemed like a natural progression – young adults shifting from one environment to the next. I felt like I could take over the world. While my departures had been relatively painless, my parents thought it was like releasing a domestic animal into the wild. They never worried I couldn’t find a job and make a decent living. Or being lured to the ‘dark side’ – to become mat rempit or prostitute myself for a packet of weeds. They worried because they thought I would starve myself to death.

That’s riiiight.

Don’t get me wrong. I know how to plan a meal or boil egg at the minimum, but I displayed a remarkable lack of patience when it came time for the actual cooking. Frozen dinners were often eaten exactly as sold and I eat ‘fresh’ fish balls and fish cake like they are a bag of potato chips.

I long for the time we can pop in a tiny blue capsule in some futuristic-looking the microwave oven, wait for a minute and voila, a 3 course French style dinner meal is ready on the table for us to gobble. Yum!

Anyway, last Friday, I thought I wanted to do something special for the weekend and decided I wanted to cook – forgetting that another option is to simply eat out! I went to Tesco and bought myself a healthy, giant close-to-a-kilo chicken and stuffed it in my freezer, hoping that I’ll be able to tenderize it later for Saturday night dinner.

Always the Mr. I-Never-Forget-Things, I forgot to defrost the chicken and it has turned to nothing but a solid, crystallized meat. I spent my whole Saturday afternoon yesterday, stomping the solid mass into three 6-inch portions, which I’d stack in a pile and force them into the oven.

After all that work, the chicken had been spoiled. It tasted like roadkill, so I threw it away and called it a night.

A few hours later, having decided that spoiled chicken was better than no chicken at all, I got out of bed, rolled out in my underpants, and proceeded to eat the leftovers directly from the trash can. At 3 in the morning!

A Crazy Friend: This is so typical of you. You know, last night, I was watching Oprah and she was interviewing Matthew McConaughey . She said, “Okay, let’s talk about your new movie. You are getting USD10 million, right?” And his face gets all pinched, and he says he’s not going to discuss money. Too private. What is up with that?

Me: I think it’s natural not to want to discuss income, because when you do, you seem to be either bragging or complaining. Plus, whatever the numbers, you become an object of idiotic gossip and debate. No, I don’t discuss money. I think it’s weird that you do.

A Crazy Friend: No, I think it’s weird that you think people want to gossip, much less debate about your income.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

I am not making any big claims for myself but yeah, it’s true; I have been with the same ol’ bank for more than 4 years now. Wow, sounds like fooorever, right? Ha! Well, it is, especially when you consider that my next longest service in my 11 years of career making was my actually first job, which only lasted like 2 years or something…(I get bored easily, I have issues, so sue me)

My being with the same bank so long isn’t necessarily because they think I am fantastic at what I do or that I have comfortably found my newfound pastimes - kissing a** or be a waste of space or something. I have been lazy.

Something happened with me at the beginning of this year that I snapped. I got an epiphany. So I decided to make certain changes my life, make it more meaningful and you know, just went for it.

At first I wanted to volunteer for Haiti relief team, or maybe join PETA or travel around the world under the banner of Miss Universe International in the name of charity, but that would be a little too ambitious and painfully predictable eh? (Though I must say that would make a nice, great addition in my resume).

Anyway, harsh reality finally set in and at the end of all these crazy “fantasies”, somehow something great, and totally unexpected in a form of a job offer, suddenly fall onto my laps. I consider that my lucky break.

So chillax people, this sudden change of heart or ‘skid’ is nothing to do with my current employer or anyone in it at all. They have been great with me. While I am not trying to boast, I do know for a fact they’ve been pleased with my work and by large, I have too. I never come late to office, falsify medical certificates or work my way up by smooching anyone’s rear end.

Okay, maybe I am boasting now. But it means a lot to me, being able to do my work well and makes a lot of friends here; especially that bit about ‘never smooching anyone’s backside’.

Alas, all good things must end somewhere, and it is official now that day will come on 29 April 2011. Last Monday, I have tendered my resignation with 2 months notice - which like 49 days from today. For real, I counted it.